


Tactical Surveillance

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Jared doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Like yeah, he’s a little obsessive about watching hockey as well as playing it, and watching the Flames in particular, but it’s the on the ice stuff he cares about, not the rest. Plus there’s a hell of a difference between his general shrug at the mentions from commentators or articles — aw shit, newborn, hope he isn’t too wrung out, oh hey, he’s engaged, not sure why I give a fuck unless his GAA starts increasing, punched an Oilers fan, what an idiot — and the three hours he can’t get back, scanning every single piece of news or gossip about Marcus like he’s surveying an opponent for weaknesses.Which maybe he is.





	Tactical Surveillance

After the weirdass, exhausting week he’s had, Jared has decided he needs a hockey free weekend. No ball hockey with the kids on his street, no pick up games with a few of the Hitmen in town, no checking the buzz on free agency, no Puck Daddy, though it almost hurts not to check the site in the morning like he usually does. Even his hockey video games are boycotted. Saturday he sleeps in until ten, which he hasn’t done in too long, lets his sister Erin whine him into making them both omelettes. Considers going to the local pool but blows it off to watch a Mythbusters marathon, because swimming seems too close to conditioning for comfort.

He’s still on the couch when his parents get home, his mom from his nana’s, his dad from work. He reluctantly hauls himself up long enough to help make and eat dinner, ends up back on the couch in time for a twenty minute argument with Erin on what to watch before his mom takes the remote and turns on the news until they form a reluctant truce and decide on a double-feature of Iron Man and Iron Man 2.

Jared’s in bed by eleven, asleep by eleven-thirty, and pretty impressed with himself for managing the hockey blackout without cracking. He can’t even remember the last time he’s gone a day without it in some form. It’s weird, but kind of nice.

*

Jared starts Sunday by scanning Puck Daddy, but in his defence, he only reads the headlines, so it barely counts. Takes a shower, ducks into his room with a bowl of cereal before Erin can bug him into making breakfast again, chewing his Wheaties in front of his computer, kind of at a loss at what to do. Breakfast is usually when he multi-tasks hockey blogs and eating.

Jared pulls open Chrome’s incognito window. He basically uses it only for porn and googling himself, so he doesn’t even know why he’s opening it, since he’s not planning on jerking off or doing an ego jerk off — or ego drop, he guesses, you never know what people are saying about you until you read it, and that’s _if_ they’re saying anything about you, which they usually aren’t, especially in the offseason. Not jerking off, not looking himself up, no reason to use incognito.

Except. Well, he doesn’t want to taint his search history with douchebag. That’s a good enough reason, he thinks.

 _bryce marcus_ Jared types, and when the first results are all the boring things — he’s a little aghast at himself for calling hockey stats boring, but they’re not what he’s looking for, and he _is_ supposed to be taking the weekend off, as bad as he’s slipping right now — adds _arrest_.

Most of the articles have the same info. First arrest: blah blah, OT loss to the Oilers, blah, bar in downtown Calgary, blah, Marcus punches Oilers fan who was heckling the Flames, blah, not pressing charges, blah, anger management classes — bingo, Jared, no wonder that jab landed as hard as it did. It’s all things he already knew, maybe even the anger management, which came to him at the time like a stroke of apparent genius but might have just been a forgotten detail. 

Then the aftermath: Calgary management apologizing on his behalf to the guy and the Oilers and their fans. Some carefully crafted statement by Marcus that doesn’t sound a thing like him. It’s all still a little funny, as funny as it is stupid. The Oilers fan seemed to think it was funny too when he was interviewed a week after, said the Oilers had given him tickets and swag for taking the hit for them and he’d do it again anytime.

The second one isn’t funny. DUI, _way_ over the legal limit, yelled at a cop, though didn’t actually resist arrest, technically. Turns out you don’t actually get arrested for DUIs in Alberta, Jared finds out after a cursory search, just no licence until you’ve gone through an alcohol education class and you get stuck with what’s basically a breathalyzer in your car for a year. Jared tries to remember if he’s seen Marcus driving around, but he can’t. He wonders if there’s some community service involved too. That would explain why Marcus was bumming around their camp.

There’s a ton of other stuff on Marcus once he expands to forums and blogs instead just the papers. Rumours about a hostile environment in the Flames locker room that he’s the source of. Talk that Marcus got pissed they passed him over for an A when they traded Gaugin even though it was only his sophomore season and he’d probably be the worst dude on the Flames to deal with the refs outside of maybe Morris. Murmurs that his bigshot agent wants to dump him. Also apparently he’s a bad lay, according to one girl on a forum it took him way too long to find. Didn’t even bother with foreplay, just stuck it in. 

Jared doesn’t know if he believes the last one. Not him being a bad or selfish lay, Jared can totally believe _that_ , but he’s in high school, and he knows the shit people will say when they’re bitter, or jilted, or just want attention. He’s mostly managed to stay out of it, just by not fucking around with anyone, but right after he started playing for the Hitmen a girl he’d never even spoke to before went around telling everyone she blew him at a party, which was kind of funny. What was he going to say about it: nope, way too gay for that but thanks for letting people think I’ve got more sexual experience than I actually have?

Anyway, it’s not like Marcus’ sex life is Jared’s business, or anyone’s. Neither, technically, is anything else, when it comes down to it, but that one made him feel uncomfortable, like some voyeur. Jared shuts the tabs, because it’s almost noon and he wasted his entire morning on this, and doesn’t think about Bryce Marcus once for the rest of the day.

Okay, that is absolutely a lie. Jared keeps trying to distract himself, even giving in and playing a few games of NHL 15. He almost always plays as the Flames, and Marcus is on that roster, so that’s probably why he keeps thinking about him. Though it doesn’t explain why he keeps thinking about him during another mini-marathon that afternoon, this time of Star Trek DS9. 

Jared doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Like yeah, he’s a little obsessive about watching hockey as well as playing it, and watching the Flames in particular, but it’s the on the ice stuff he cares about, not the rest. Plus there’s a hell of a difference between his general shrug at the mentions from commentators or articles — aw shit, newborn, hope he isn’t too wrung out, oh hey, he’s engaged, not sure why I give a fuck unless his GAA starts increasing, punched an Oilers fan, what an idiot — and the three hours he can’t get back, scanning every single piece of news or gossip about Marcus like he’s surveying an opponent for weaknesses.

Which maybe he is. Maybe buried in that is something he can use to get Marcus off his ass, like the shot about anger management did temporarily, except there’s something kind of skeevy about that, using info he only has because Marcus is famous, at least in Calgary, and all that shit’s public knowledge.

Whatever. Marcus didn’t even get Jared’s name right the first time. He’s probably already forgotten Jared exists. Marcus is going to go back to his sullen shit, and Jared’s going to feel like a total idiot for wasting his entire morning on him, but also relieved to have things go back to normal, or whatever this camp’s normal is. He’s calling it.

*

Jared is getting tired of being wrong.

Marcus is only five minutes late on Monday, which has to be some kind of record for him. Jared wonders if that’s true for Flames practices too, if that’s the reason why —

Jared really needs to stop focusing on this. It’s such a waste of brain power. He focuses on his socks instead, though they aren’t exactly riveting. One of them is drooping a little. Jared kneels to tug it up.

“What’s up, Jared?” Marcus says, like the second he saw Jared was busy he came to interrupt him. But that’s normal from what Jared knows about Marcus, not from the internet but from last week. He has an uncanny knack of showing up at the most annoying times. The weird thing is —

“Why do you know my name,” Jared says, flat.

“I mean, I’m your coach,” Marcus says.

“You’re not, but okay,” Jared says. He glances around the room, then points at Debono. “What’s his name?”

“Uh,” Marcus says. “John?”

“Did you just go with the most common name possible and hope you were right?” Jared asks disbelievingly.

Marcus seems to perk up. “I got it right?” he asks.

“Uh, no,” Jared says. “Not even close.”

“Oh,” Marcus says. “I’m sure I know it.”

“I’m positive you don’t,” Jared says. “Because it’s Jared too, so it’s kind of easy to remember if you know my name.”

“ _Your_ name is Jared,” Marcus says, like somehow Jared was unaware of that.

“Yes,” Jared says. “Gold star. Are you aware that more than one person can have the same name?”

“Shut up,” Marcus mutters, then calls out, “Hey Jared!”, shooting a wave at Debono, who looks around before frowning.

“My name’s Anthony,” he says. “Jared’s the dude you’re standing beside.”

“Aw shit,” Jared says. “Could have sworn it was Jared.”

Marcus looks like he wants to strangle him.

Jared grins back at him, then turns to shine that grin on Raf. Raf smiles back tentatively, then looks at Marcus’ expression and blanches. He keeps coming, though. Brave guy. Jared would run away from Marcus if he didn’t have a dire feeling Marcus would follow him.

“Hey Raf,” Marcus says, then gives Jared a pointed look, like, ‘see, I know names!’

“His name’s Rafael,” Jared says.

“You call him Raf,” Marcus says.

“Uh, yeah,” Jared says. “But I waited until he told me I could instead of just assuming I had the right to call him by his nickname. You know, because I’m not an asshole.”

“You can call me Raf if you want,” Raf mumbles, looking miserable. Jared feels kind of shitty for putting him in the middle of this, but it’s a point of honour or something. He had a teammate who called him Jerry every fucking time he talked him him, no matter how often he told him that wasn’t his damn name, and there’s nothing quite like someone doing something they know you don’t like just to, what…prove they’re so self-centered and boundary lacking and awful that your consent doesn’t matter?

“Whatever, Rafael,” Marcus says dismissively, which is rude as fuck. Jared doesn’t care if Marcus is rude to him — frankly it’s less unsettling than him _not_ being rude — but Raf didn’t do shit to him.

“Fuck you,” Jared mutters as Marcus walks away. He’s not stupid enough to say it louder than that — useless or not, Marcus is still technically their superior, and if any of the actual coaches overhead that, he’d be in shit. Still, he can’t not say it.

“Let it go,” Raf says.

Jared tries to, really, he does. Marcus avoids him and Raf after, and Jared starts to think that maybe, _maybe_ he’s finally managed to drill it into his skull that he’s the opposite of welcome.

That lasts all of the morning, and then Marcus is right back in it, insulting Jared’s backhand, which he’s a little paranoid about, after Raf’s comment, and the more he snaps back the closer Marcus gets.

“I’ll show you,” Marcus says, getting right into Jared’s space like he plans on touching him, holding his stick, adjusting his grip, maybe, the way coaches used to do when Jared was little, saying ‘there’, pleased, when moving his hand up or down by a mere centimeter made all the difference.

“Seriously, can you fuck off?” Jared says, too loud, probably, though thankfully Evanson doesn’t look up from where he’s talking to Stephenson and Carter ten feet away, and that, finally, gets Marcus to back off, skate over to Debono and Wright and offer his useless advice to them. Wright’s first name actually is Jared, and Jared wonders if Marcus will believe him or not if he introduces himself.

“Can I?” Raf asks.

“Can you what?” Jared asks.

“You need to loosen your grip like—” Raf says, then does adjust it, a minor unflexing of his fingers. It feels weird, the twist of the stick in his hand as he tries a few shots, but his movement’s smoother. 

“Thanks,” Jared says, after, because he’s not an ingrate. “Maybe you should be the one coaching.”

Raf shrugs. “Marcus is the one who noticed it,” he says.

Jared pretends he didn’t hear that.

*

“You know how cats like, sense if you don’t like them or are afraid of them and then _that’s_ when they get in your space?” Jared asks between drills. Marcus hasn’t come back to bug them yet, but it feels like a matter of time, and even though he’s interacting with some of the other guys in a shocking reversal, he swears every time he looks over Marcus is like…getting closer. It’s creepy.

“Uh,” Raf says. “Not really?”

“Like they have this asshole cat meter,” Jared continues. “Fuck off if you like me, if you don’t I’m gonna make your life hell by being around you all the time. Creepily.”

“I have a cat,” Raf says, sounding offended.

“Not dissing cats,” Jared says. “I like cats. I’m just saying, I feel like Marcus knows I don’t like him—”

“I can’t imagine how he figured that out,” Raf says. He’s becoming more sarcastic by the day. Jared doesn’t know if that’s due to extended time around Jared or that he’s just comfortable enough to let out his secret snarky asshole, but either way, Jared appreciates it.

“Well, I’m not hiding it,” Jared shrugs. “Anyway, I’m liking my cat theory. This is an intimidation tactic or some shit.”

“You’re giving him too much credit,” Raf says. “Or blame. One of those.”

“You just don’t like thinking about your cat’s evil tactics,” Jared says.

“My cat’s sweet,” Raf says. “She doesn’t hang around people just to bother them.”

If Jared knows cats — and he does, he grew up with two of them — that is highly unlikely, but arguing with a dude about his pet is not a battle you can win.

“What’s her name?” Jared asks.

“Pebble,” Raf says.

“Ugh, you named her Pebble?” Jared says. “You’re disgustingly cute.”

“I didn’t name her,” Raf says, but he’s not a very good liar. He absolutely named her. Jared’s picturing some tiny pre-school Rafael Sanchez naming his cat Pebble because she was a tiny grey kitten or something. Jared doesn’t even like kids that much and the image makes him want to smile.

“Is she grey?” Jared asks.

“Yeah,” Raf says. “How’d you—”

“How old were you?” Jared asks. “Six?”

“Five,” Raf mutters.

“Disgustingly cute,” Jared repeats. “The cutest. How are you so cute?”

“Maybe spend less time flirting and more time working,” Marcus snaps, and Jared startles. He didn’t even realise Marcus was there. He’s either getting sneakier, or Jared’s getting used to him. Neither of those options are good. Or — the cat theory is getting disturbing.

“Maybe don’t immediately mistake friendliness for flirting,” Jared snaps back. After more than half a decade of self-policing his language, putting on a damn ‘no homo’ filter, getting paranoid about even complimenting someone who deserved it, he’s done. He is so fucking over the response of ‘gay’ to anything that isn’t a straight up diss. Like, yep, he is, but fuck knows he has better taste than to hit on a _hockey player_ , even one as nice as Raf. “Or are you jealous? You want me to flirt with you instead, that it, Marcus?”

Marcus goes bright red and skates away practically double-time. Not the first time Jared’s used someone’s homophobia against them, but it always makes him feel kind of sick, like he’s — 

Whatever. Marcus fucked off, which is what Jared wanted, so it doesn’t matter. 

“Um—” Raf says, looking kind of mortified.

“I wasn’t flirting with you,” Jared says.

“I know,” Raf says quickly.

No one’s close enough to hear them, and Jared likes Raf. Obviously not in a flirting way, but he likes him, and he doesn’t really want to fuck with that but he’s not interested in playing straight for weeks. Anyway, it’s not like it’s some big deal, even in the league — well, maybe in the league, but there _are_ out players, including Jared with some of his teammates — and Raf seems cool. Jared hopes he is, at least.

“I’m gay,” Jared says. “But yeah, you’re not my type.”

“Okay,” Raf says.

“You’re great and all,” Jared says, even though Raf didn’t seem offended. “But you’re a hockey player, so.”

Raf frowns. _Now_ he looks kind of offended. “What’s wrong with being a hockey player?” he asks.

“Have you met one?” Jared asks.

Raf’s quiet for a moment. “Fair enough,” he decides.

“Did you notice Marcus show up?” Jared asks. “Like, I feel like he just kind of — poof, appeared.”

Raf shrugs. “Yeah, I didn’t realise he was here until he talked.”

“Like a cat,” Jared says.

Raf sighs, but doesn’t argue.

“Hey,” Jared says. He has an idea. “How do you make cats go away?”

“Um,” Raf says. “Water? Loud noises?”

“No,” Jared says, though he’s technically right. “Affection.”

“Oh no,” Raf says.

“Oh yes,” Jared says.

“This is a very bad idea,” Raf says.

He’s probably right.

Jared’s going to try it anyway.


End file.
